


Everybody Wants To Rule The World

by WizbangBonanza



Series: Looped Records (Bioshock verse) [1]
Category: BioShock Infinite, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, I promise, I stole a lot of the lines from the game, I'm not gonna lie, It gets more original as it pans out, M/M, My two favorite things in the world, and by a lot I mean pretty much all, skips around to the important bits I guess I wanna say, sorta drabbley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-30 01:18:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3917830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizbangBonanza/pseuds/WizbangBonanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are you afraid of Death, Tom?"</p><p>"No...but I'm afraid of you."<br/>_______________________________________________<br/>Tom assessed the whole bloody situation: the floating city, his infuriating clients, the near violent deaths, bloody Lord Voldemort, his God, or rather, Prophet complex, and the whole rallying city behind him.</p><p>This fucking kid had better be worth a lot or else Tom would kill the boy himself.</p><p>(Don't have to play the game to read)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating I Hunt Snakes is gonna take longer than I thought, fuck. I'm not gonna sprout out any dumb excuses. Just know that I am absolute trash. In the meantime, please enjoy this, I'm so sorry. I am terrible at updating stories.
> 
> Disclaimer: I stole a lot of the lines from the original script, but it'll get less and less like the game as it goes on. I just love incorporating Harry Potter into everything and why not incorporate my favorite ship into my favorite game?
> 
> Yes, the title is from the Tears for Fears song (personally I like the Bioshock rendition but Lorde's cover is good too).

“Are you going to just sit there?” A redheaded man grunted to the woman.

“As opposed to what? Standing?” The woman with brown messy hair scoffed back.

“No, rowing.” 

“Ah, I hadn’t planned on it.”

“So do you expect me to shoulder the burden?” 

“No, but I do expect you to do all the rowing.” She smirked as she handed Tom a box.

“And what’s this?” He asked her politely but she ignored him, turning to the other man who had questioned her.

“And why is that?”  

“Coming here was your idea.”  

“My idea?” 

“I made it very clear that I don’t believe in the exercise.”

“The rowing?” The woman laughed.

“No. I imagine that’s _wonderful_ exercise, you silly man. No, I meant the entire thought experiment.” The other man rolled his eyes.

“Excuse me, how much longer until we get there?” Once again they ignored him. Tom could feel dormant anger warming his chest, shifting in its sleep before it became still once more. Instead of drowning them (grab their necks, squeeze tight tight tight, submerge their heads as they struggle to _breathe_ -), he opened the box. Inside, there was a pistol (“this will do, I suppose”), and a couple of pictures with one that said,

 “Bring us the boy and wipe away the debt?” He turned the picture over in his hands. What the-

“-we’ve arrived.” Tom looked up and his eyes widened. How had he not seen it before! Out of the mist, the medieval castle stood against the waves in all its glory with lighted windows like a beacon.

Questions popped all over Tom’s brain: Sure they were in Scotland but why would a castle, a fortress designed to last a siege, be doing in the middle of the ocean with nothing else surrounding it? What was its purpose? Why would they send him here?

However, the oddest thing about it was Tom couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that he had seen this particular castle before. Of course, this was impossible. He’d never seen this castle, or even **a** castle this close before. But somehow, he felt a familiar nostalgia, like, not only has he seen this many times before but, he’d also grown fond of it. Ridiculous.

And yet he felt a fleeting of some lost memory in his head. But the more he stared at the castle the more it fluttered away, like a butterfly in a meadow.

“Is this some sort of strange lighthouse?” He looked at its tallest tower which was pulsing a bright florescent light.

The two looked at each other and shrugged.

“More or less.” The woman offered.

“I thought it was a school-“ The woman shoved her elbow.

 “OI, That’s my rowing arm!” Tom ignored the glaring man shaking his rowing arm and got out of the boat. As soon as he climbed up the ladder and boarded the dock, the couple immediately started rowing away.

“Shall we tell him when we’ll be returning?”

 “Would that change anything?” The man heaved as he resumed his herculean task.Tom wondered what they were talking about. Change what? 

“It might give him some comfort.”

“At least that’s something we can agree on.”

Tom yelled from the dock, “Is somebody meeting me here?!”

  “I’d hope so.” The man gave a shrug.  

“It does seem like a dreadful place to be stranded.” The woman offered a mysterious smile.

It soon became clear that they wouldn’t tell him anything else about the job, the riddles, the **whole ridiculous bloody situation**. This petty couple thought they could belittle Tom’s genius intellect with smoke and mirrors and refuse to tell their contractor anything about the job he was going to have to risk his life doing-

“I swear when this job is over, I am going to have their bloody heads on my dining room table.” He grumbled as he turned to walk to the castle.


	2. Chapter 2

He could hardly believe it.

A flying city.

A whole flying fucking city.

The laws of levitation in practicality didn’t agree with the enormity of the city. Levitation called for a castor or a power supply with equal match of the mass of the thing being levitated. A wizard could levitate a boulder and a magical force of nature could rip buildings from the ground but…The levitating city, Hogwarts, would have to have a steady, constant stream of an enormous power. It wasn’t impossible per say but it was highly improbable and, Tom admitted, deeply impressive. Whatever or whoever powered the levitating city was extremely powerful, and Tom could respect strength.The whole city was beautiful, really. Tom could appreciate the aesthetics and the innovations the isolated city boasted of. The isolated potions, vigors, that seemed to make wandless casting effortless, were astounding, although it could only implement a particular type of magic and it needed to run on a separate power supply, salts. They even fused muggle weaponry and magic, a truly dangerous goal down in England.

It was an amazing city-state.

If only said city wasn’t filled with narrow-minded idiots all trying to kill him.

When he stepped foot on in the city, everyone was quick to greet him kindly. After being intercepted at a strange church where they forced a strange baptismal ritual upon him, he emerged from the waters to an idyllic city. Kids played outside, couples took walks across the street, friends had picnics, doors were left wide open: the opposite of wartorn Europe.

Then everything changed with the raffle.

They were having some kind of fair when Tom stumbled across a raffle. It was too late for him not to participate as they closed the gates after he realized he would have to join.

“Silly, there’s never a charge for the raffle! Have you been sleeping under a rock? Pick one.” A woman holding a basket of baseballs said to him when he declined to give any money.

Unable to refuse without seeming suspicious, Tom reached into the basket and picked one.

Number seventy-seven.

He vaguely remembered the telegram a boy brought to him by his clients.

“ _Riddle STOP. Do not alert Voldemort to your presence STOP. Whatever you do, do not pick #77 STOP. Granger._ ”

Well shite.“Seventy-seven? That’s a lucky number! I’ll be rooting for you.” The woman giggled as she waved at him.

Tom would’ve sneered if it wasn’t deemed socially inappropriate.

“Bring me the bowl! Is that not the prettiest young pureblood witch in all of Hogwarts? Haha!” A tall man with long blond hair drawled as he picked up a slip. “All right then… And the winner is… number seventy-seven!”

Damn. “Well, what do you know?”

“Over here! Over here! He’s the winner!” The woman earlier pointed him out.

If it were deemed socially acceptable, he would’ve killed her.

“Number seventy-seven, come and claim your prize! First throw!” Tom was forced in front of the crowd as they cheered behind him.

First throw?

He wondered what they meant by that when the curtain revealed a young couple tied up. On the girl, he could see that they had painted the words ‘mudblood’ on her chest and on the man they painted the words ‘blood traitor.’ Their clothes were ripped to shreds, clothes that seemed to be meant for their wedding and definitely not for a public stoning.

“Please… please don’t do this.” “It was me. It was all me! Please, please! Spare her!” Both of them cried out, tearfully pleading with Tom.

Tom was stunned. The crowd behind him openly cheered as they condemned this couple to be pelted with baseballs. Now, it wasn’t as if he was a saint. In fact, he had been called a psychopath on more than one occasion. He felt no real sympathy towards this pathetic display of inhumanity. 

No, not only wasn’t it normal, it was just downright…

Disturbing.

And the idyllic dream shattered.

“Come on, are you gonna throw it.. or are you taking your coffee with dirt these days?” The man drawled, “It looks like we’ve got a shy one here! We’re going to have to do something about that. The clock is ticking, my boy, why don’t you give it a throw!” The man’s laughing eyes slid down to the ball in his hand. His scarred hand.

“Now just wait a tick.” The man mused, voice deadly quiet amongst the cheering crowd which got reduced to murmurs at his voice.

Tom got ready to exclaim when his hand was suddenly grabbed.

“It’s him! It’s the False Shepard!” The crowd screamed as they frantically attempted to flee.

“Now, where’d you get that brand boy? Don’t you low that makes you the traitorous, foul False Shepherd? And we’re not about to led the False Shepard into our nest. Show him what we got planned, boys.” The two men decked in black made their way to grab Tom.

Time seemed to slow down as a sharp metal weapon seemed to spin like a saw towards his face. Survival instincts kicked in as Tom threw the baseball, still in his hand, up into the air, distracting the two. Then, with no mercy, he mashed one’s face into the other’s weapon and took it out of his hands.

He ran, hitting the police with what he remembered was called a sky hook, and occasionally grabbing the weapons of the fallen.

Spells zipped past him as he made his way to Monument Island, where a huge golden statue of an angel with a scythe stood proudly against the ever blue sky.

“Shite.” He would never admit he yelped as a spell grazed his cheek. Quickly turning, he used his own magically modified revolver to take down the man directly behind him. Before this, he barely had known how to shoot a muggle gun but with forced practice, he seemingly turned himself into a pro.

He shot once more behind him, in his haste wildly missing the man entirely and accidentally shooting a barrel of something behind him, making the whole square explode.

Well  _almost_ a pro.

He coughed as he pulled himself off the ground. Squinting at the mess behind him, he realized that all of his pursuers had been killed in the blast.

Wonderful.

Life really was made of little gifts.

Grinning, he made his way to the imposing gate of the tall idol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm going to wait until I'm totally done with school to even attempt posting something up for I Hunt Snakes. I need to think on that for a good long while (I told you, I am shit at updating, real fucking shit). 
> 
> Um, as you may have noticed, Tom says or thinks a lot more profanity than it would seem in canon. I mean, it's just a writer thing. Tom grew up in an orphanage in World War II London. I mean, I would assume that Tom's ears aren't exactly the cleanest. Also, Brooker curses a lot himself so that probably influenced me a bit, and I curse a lot when I play this game (there are some scenes that are like oh DAMN, wtf just happened). 
> 
> While I'm sure he's pretty vulgar in his thoughts like we all are, Tom usually is pretty clean when he speaks, I think. In Hogwarts and even when he was still in the Orphanage, I feel like he rooted such things out especially when he's trying to charm others. However, I believe that once in a while it slips out, and there are going to be plenty of opportunities to slip out. 
> 
> idk. He might curse more, or not at all in the future. It all depends on my mood, I guess (I have so much power, someone take it away from me.) 
> 
> All feedback is welcomed and greatly appreciated. Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I wanted to post this chapter for a while but I just put it off for a long time. In any case, I just need to edit the next chapter so I'll do that soon and probably post the next chapter up by next week.  
> As for I Hunt Snakes, I'll probably post a new chapter after I'm done posting what I've already currently written for this fic. I'm sorry. I'm trash.
> 
> This was a doozy to edit, not because of spelling mistakes but because of story plot reasons. I needed a long time to think about it, but it was fun to write. 
> 
> Okay, I need sleep. Maybe I'll edit this notes section later, but it's 3am and I'm super tired lol
> 
> I appreciate everyone who comments and gives kudos :^) (and even those who don't.) Have a nice day? Night? Timeless Void?
> 
> So without further ado...

The path of Monument Island was closed so Tom was forced to take other routes.

Using the rails above his head, sky-lines, he travelled across the city with his surprisingly handy sky hook while public service announcements gave false descriptions of him and his malicious goals.  

“Give heed, believers! There is menace! There is threat! The False Shepherd, here in Hogwarts! Full of hate and avarice and guile, like all his kind in the Sodom below…He seeks the Lamb and hastens to his tower, even now… His intent is RUIN…”

Well they weren’t _entirely_ wrong.

He continued to shoot cops as he maneuvered the sky-lines when he came across a deck full of cops. However, even as he landed and they surely at least heard him, they didn’t stop bowing. They didn’t even have their weapons in their hands.

Just what were they planning?

The cogs in his mind spun rapidly. Testing the limits of his company, he shot one in the head. The man let out a cry of anguish and fell upon himself but the others didn’t even flinch.

Interesting.

Such self-control, but for _what_ was the question.

He fought the urge to grin as he made his way to open double doors and found a dark room full of cops on  their knees. The room was only illuminated by the grainy, projected face of what seemed like a serpentine monster with the caption of ‘Lord Voldemort, our prophet’.

He recognized him as the leader of this city-state and supposedly the one who wanted to kill him evidenced by his homicidal employees. Tom knew about the religious zeal of the city, worshipping death and revering their leader, a so-called prophet of death’s, but did the prophet’s goals reflect the city’s? Was he really a missionary from the grim reaper himself or did he have an ulterior motive?

But then that same nostalgic feeling as when he first laid eyes on the castle in the middle of the sea returned. Wisps of another world teased his memory. He felt as if he had heard that name before this ridiculous city, before Hogwarts…

Regardless of what Voldemort wanted -or what he was- Tom really didn’t feel like fighting every single armed man and woman across the city.

Gathering what others described as the devil’s charm, Tom smiled genially, “Now, sir, I know you can at least hear me. Listen to me when I say that I think we can reach an…arrangement with each other.” It couldn’t hurt to try.

Suddenly, a booming sound like a intercom being opened, sounded throughout the ship. Crackling, a static voice laced with a darker, deeper intonation echoed through the room.

“I know why you’ve come, False Shepherd. Your deceitful tricks won’t work on me.”

Damn.

“I see every sin, every pathetic grasping of power that splits your soul further. Your father. Your beloved. And now, to repay a debt, you’ve come for my lamb. But not all debts can be repaid, Tom.” Tom let out a harsh short chuckle.

“You don’t know me!” He hissed, busying himself with trying to find a way out this place. Stepping onto a platform, he pulled a level which made him slowly ascend.

He could respect the control the man-er- monster held over his city but he was still just that, a monstrous, controlling loon that had no business insulting him. The voice in the loudspeaker began again.

“Prophecy is my business, Mr. Riddle, as blood is yours. Do you know why these men will die for me?” Because they’re idiots accommodating to a more dangerous, crazier idiot?

“Because I have seen the future in their glory, and hence they are content. What brought you to Hogwarts, Tom? “Bring us the boy and wipe away the debt?”” How could he possibly know about his contract?

Granger’d better fess up next time he saw her.

“This will end in blood, Riddle. But then again, it always does with you, doesn’t it? It always ends in blood.”

The voice ended in a growl as Tom’s vision suddenly shook. His vision had become grainy like black and white film as a sharp blinding pain burst in his head. For a second, he could only hear ringing in his ears like someone had circled the rim of a champagne glass with his finger and amplified it. Vaguely, in the chaos, he felt something wet trickle down his nose.

What the hell?

He put his fingers up to his face and found a smear of bright red blood.

**Holy shit.**

Tom quickly made his way out of the chamber once the platform stopped, trying in vain to stop the voice from following him.

“You’ve come to lead my lamb astray, but thy crook is bent and thy path is twisted. Go back to the Sodom from which you came!”

Tom internally denied him of such luck as he made his way into a brightly lit hallway.

“GO BACK!” A sudden explosion from in front of him jarred the ground he walked on, totally demolishing the wall and part of the floor.

**Holy _fucking_ shit.**

Ignoring the interrupting explosion, he made his way to the control room, fighting off he newly reinstated cops.

“I got to find the controls to take this abominable aircraft to Monument Island.” He eyed what looked like a nun praying at a shrine.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” if he had the time, he would’ve rolled his eyes, “just let me take control and everything will be fine.” With his genius intellect, just how hard was it to fly an aircraft?

“Alright, I’m sure I can get this thing going with a bit of persuasion…” Fiddling with the controls a gunship rose up in the window so Lord Voldemort in all his serpentine glory was to eye level with him.

“Death doesn’t care how you live or when you die. Death is indifferent. But I’m just a prophet…so I don’t have to be. Amen.” The gunship flew away and Tom’s face remained impassive as his eyes narrowed at the vague meaning.

“Amen.”

Tom whipped around at the carefree voice just in time to see the nun drop a flaming torch…right onto herself.

That _bitch_.

“FUCK.”  Tom did not screech as the fire spread to everywhere it could touch. Okay, he was in an airship. A zeppelin. Zeppelins had helium in them to make it float making the ship very flammable making it maybe ten seconds for Tom to get out before the entire thing blew up. A stream of curses bombarded his thoughts.

The air soon grew heavy with heat as flames erupted from everywhere. He stumbled out of the door and jumped out through an open hatch. Fortunately catching a sky-line right in time, the airship violently exploded above him as the wind rushed around him.

Breathing heavily, Tom assessed the whole bloody situation: the floating city, his infuriating clients, the near violent deaths, bloody Lord Voldemort, his God, or rather, Prophet complex, and the whole rallying city behind him.

This fucking boy had better be worth a lot or else Tom would kill him himself.


	4. Chapter 4

Of all the fucked up things Tom had ever seen, this was at least on his top ten list.

Monument Island was fueled by an unknown source of a magical, scientific hybrid, and acted simultaneously as a prison and a laboratory for all intents and purposes.

They called the boy, specimen.

The lower levels held the scientists’ lockers, the main energy source, and what seemed like an exhibit of the boy Tom was supposed to acquire.

It showcased a graph of the the boy's growth, his childhood toy, his diary, his first ejaculation stain…

Just who was this boy?

He found a room with soundless film of the boy. Film of him attempting to lock pick his way out of the tower, film of him deciphering codes,

Nothing Tom didn’t approve of.

Tom found the adjacent room was a darkroom and clipped on a hanging string developed pictures of the boy in a state of undress.

They had been **watching** him.

A sudden burst of intense anger erupted in his chest and made his head hazy with rage. It didn’t last very long and it came as soon as it went. He knew not of its origin, but it felt overwhelming.

It was something Tom approved less of.

As he worked his way to the upper levels, Tom found one way windows into the boy’s home. One in the library, the dining room, the dressing room, the bathroom, the conservatory, the bedroom…

How many scientists pass and went through this place a day? And why did they want to watch him of all people? Why would someone like Lord Voldemort set something this elaborate up, not only building the tower or hiring scientists to watch the boy, but also making an entire city believe he was some sort of savior, all for one child?

Curious, Tom followed the lamb to the dining room and he got some semblance of an answer.

There he found the boy in front of a painting of the Eiffel Tower. The obsession with Paris was unusual but not unnatural. Tom really didn’t know just what was the big fuss was about-

And then, the boy had faced the painting and, as if he were opening a heavy door, he seemingly tore a hole in the fabric of reality with a burst of light. Around him was the dining room but in front of him was another world.

There, within the undulating circle, was the streets of Paris.

It was nothing he had ever seen before. No magic was anything like that.

And of all the magic he had seen, this was the most interesting thing Tom had ever witnessed.

This boy might just be worthy of his attention yet.

But the wonderful phenomenon couldn’t last. Like all good things, it came to an end. An ambulance, at first just a flash of  light and vague sound, and then an ear-deafening, speeding hunk of metal made the boy quickly force the tear closed. Seemingly upset, the boy rushed out of the room.

Meanwhile, Tom was bursting with questions. Could he open tears anywhere? Was it simply a bending of space or was it also of time. Did the people in Paris see the other side or was it just a one way mirror like Tom was seeing the boy? Was this child even human?

From a little curiosity, Tom vaguely felt the beginnings of an obsession.

And suddenly, the scientists, Lord Voldemort, the whole damn city didn’t seem as unfounded anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, I was supposed to post this up a week (or maybe two?) ago. Sorry, I was a CIT for a summer camp, eight hours with kids 7-11 for two weeks, and there was this con I had to make a Danny Phantom costume for. It was hectic these last few weeks.
> 
> But that doesn't excuse the fact that I'm trash, I'm sorry. 
> 
> To make up for it, I'll post up two chapters. I'll also be away for a month because I'll be at the Philippines for the first time in about 11 years? I dunno, I'll probably have a lot of time to write so expect that!
> 
> I'm thankful for all the kudos and comments you guys have bestowed upon me; it is a pleasure to write this.


	5. Chapter 5

Despite the fact that he had never actually been in the presence of another human being in his entire life, Harry could never shake off the feeling that someone was watching him, eyes following his every move.

Only goes to show what living in an isolated tower all your life does to you. 

When he was little, he was more content with what he had. Harry had three meals a day including snacks, all the toys he could ever want, and all a child needed excepting companionship. Although he was lonely, Harry learned to do without since there really wasn’t anyone around to ask (except for Hedwig and she wouldn’t answer him.)

However, when he got older, read more books in the tower, understood the nuances of human society, he suddenly realized with no small horror that children didn’t grow up alone, isolated, in gigantic towers guarded by large mechanical birds.

He learned that normal children had parents, family, to care for them, to hug them when they cried, to sing lullabies when they went to sleep, to hold them when they felt scared, to kiss their wounds when they got hurt. He learned that normal children had friends to rescue them when they got in trouble, to play games with, to share hardships in life, to simply be with.

Harry learned that normal children got love and what he got was an empty birdcage.

He wanted love more than anything then, to feel like he was needed and cared for and like he was everything. He wanted to hear a person’s voice and know that they were talking to him. Right to him. Not like the songs in the record player, but every word would be tailored to be addressed to him. He wanted someone to touch him, caring for him when he cried, hugging him in excitement. He wanted to have that sense of joy in his chest, an unconditional sense of priority reserved for only loved ones instead of this hollow feeling. This sad hollow feeling.

And the more he wanted, the more he resented until he could no longer willingly accept the life that had been dished out to him.

He no longer sought out the companionship of Hedwig, knowing that she-it- was the jailer in this situation while he was the captive. He’d read about Stockholm Syndrome and he wasn’t going to let it control his fate.

Instead, he tried do whatever he could even at the risk of his life, to read as much as he could without falling asleep, fiddle with locks, run about the tower to keep in shape. Anything to help him get out of the cage, anything to help get him out of that tower…

And how he longed to step foot outside that tower, to feel the grass between his toes, real sunshine without the barrier of transparent glass, the breeze caressing his cheek like they say in his books.

Something that wonderful needed-no- demanded to be felt in all of its simplistic glory which would mean the world to Harry.

He needed out of this tower.

He imagined perhaps Paris would be the perfect place for his first foray into the world. The City of Lights, a center of cultural explosion consisting of music, art, history, food: perfection. Paris seemingly had it all. From the various travel books in the library, Harry dreamt up a perfect world where sensation, especially the little ones taken for granted, were felt in its entirety.

A city it would seem would stay in his dreams.

He sighed as he recounted all the attempts to get out of the tower using his power. Something or another kept on blocking his way, though. The ambulance, a monsoon, Hedwi-

And then all Harry could hear was the horrendous unmistakeable crash of brass hitting smooth mahogany floors and then everything else happened in a blur.

  
Before Harry could form a coherent thought, a strange handsome man was already picking himself up off the floor he was unceremoniously dropped upon. His features were appealing, almost like a prince in his Grimm fairy tale books. And while he was no princess or damsel in distress, Harry could pick out that his life was about to get a whole lot more interesting than empty towers and papery dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao this is chapter horrendously short so it's a good thing I have ANOTHER CHAPTER *maniacal laughter*
> 
> yeah this fic isn't dead, sorry about the wait :^(
> 
> But yeah, you've met Harry! Yay! And you'll be hearing more of his POV from now on, but you'll get back to Tom's POV in the next chapter.
> 
> Thank you so much for those of you who kudos and comment. It means a lot to me that there are people who are sticking with the story! I hope you all have a swell day :^)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the story begins.

Tom groaned from his spot on the floor. He could distinctly make out little rays of sunlight streaming in from tall glass windows, filtering in through the cracks of floating dust.

The unmistakeable smell of old books was infused with the stale undulating air, as if someone had locked down an abandoned library, and nobody had ventured inside it for decades. Vaguely, he heard a long yelp or a short scream from above him.This did nothing to help Tom’s headache which seemed to pound like ripples in water: at first concentrated and bearable, but then rapidly spreading and unstoppable. Blinking his eyes free of the grainy haze that took over his vision, Tom lifted his head and pulled his aching body up with a push of his elbow.  

He blinked.

There before him was a smartly dressed boy holding his weapon, a hard copy of Jane Eyre, above his head. He could see a peculiar lightning bolt scar on his forehead between the part of his black hair. Fear and perhaps a little bit of curiosity flashed in the boy’s bespectacled green eyes. The shade seemed familiar to him, but from where he couldn’t place.

Actually, the boy himself seemed almost overwhelmingly nostalgic, like greeting an old friend but who he knew nothing about. Tom could say with complete conviction that he never knew anyone like the boy in his entire life. However, all Tom wanted to do was to grab him and keep him where no one else could see him, a place where Tom would be his whole world. Tom wanted nothing more than to shove him in some deep dark corner where even light couldn’t reach-

Alright, maybe he was more than an old friend…

Just who was this kid?

Both of them stared at each other for a long moment, burdened by the rate of their breathing, at a loss for what to do.

Finally, Tom smoothly broke the awkward silence, “Uhhh… Hello…”

This seemed to break the boy out of his stupor, suddenly alive with motion as he hurled old volumes at Tom: Moby Dick, Shakespeare’s collection of works, the Odyssey, Trans-dimensional space time theory.

Tom had just been attacked by a city, mocked by his clients, almost burned to death by a zealous psychopathic loon, and almost killed as he fell out of the ceiling of a little boy’s library. If he died because he received irreparable brain damage from an onslaught of flying books, he’d resurrect and kill himself again.

“-ow- stop-ugh, will you stop that! I’m not here to hurt you.” The boy looked unconvinced.

“Who are you?!” Wary eyes searched Tom for any sign that said that he needed to be pelted with another book.

Tom could admire a healthy dose of mistrust, but he was getting  _tired_.

“My name is Riddle. I’m a friend. I’ve come to get you out of here.”

“What kind of name is Riddle?” He made a face of total and utter distrust as he raised a very heavy tome.

Oh no. Tom wasn’t going to have any of that right now.

Tom firmly grabbed the wrists of his assailant, and the boy struggled as he tried to hit Tom in the head.

“Get away!” Unfortunately, Tower life did not allow much exercise for the skinny young man and so Tom easily overpowered him.

After a few seconds of struggling, the boy seem to accept that fact that Tom wouldn’t be hit. Reluctantly, he lowered his book and, with him, Tom let go of his wrists. The boy still held a heavy look of suspicion on his face, his narrowed eyebrows and dark frown proof of this. His emerald eyes seemed to search Tom, analyse him.

Then suddenly, his face softened with the gentle light of hope.

“Are you real?” Tom chest froze while his mind raced at the question.

How long has he been in this tower?

“I- I’m real enough.” He answered and the boy seemed to beam at him, and all Tom wanted to do was bask in that light.

But then a disgustingly patriotic-sounding tune came from a metal statue nearby of what Tom recognised as one of Hogwarts’ Founders: Godric Griffindor, one of the four of the most revered historical figures in the city.

Harry jumped at the sound and immediately panicked, smile immediately dropping.

“She’s coming.” he whispered with fear, “ y-you’ve gotta go.”

“Why?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to be here when she gets here.” making his way over to the hole in the ceiling, “just a minute, I’m getting dressed!”

“I can get you out of here.” Tom scanned the room, for an exit, a door, a weapon, anything.

“There is no way out! Trust me, I’ve tried,” A strident screeching roared from outside the library, “Stop it, you’re too impatient!” Tom fingered his gun, brushing against his pocket. Suddenly he frowned, feeling a bump. He didn’t remember putting anything there…

With his long spidery fingers, he pulled out a golden key and encrusted on the top it was a glimmering ‘G.’

Fucking Granger.

“Well, what about this? This is the way out, isn’t it?” He held it up and Harry immediately reacted.

“Give me that!” He grabbed it from his hands and held it up to the light. Scampering over to what resembled a vault door, he tinkered with the locks for a bit before finally wrenching it open with a peculiar chirping sound.

“This way!” He opened the heavy door just enough to get out, hurrying, not bothering to wait for Tom.

Fucking rude this kid was.

Tom ran after him as the building shook.

“It’s her job to keep me here!” Harry yelled behind him.

“There’s not going to be a ‘ _here’_  to keep you in if it doesn’t stop demolishing this tower!” Tom snapped back.

“Who are you? Why did you come here?” The boy kept on looking behind him as if he were a cat and Tom was a moving shining glint on the wall that distracted him from doing things like surviving. Normally, Tom would encourage such attention but running for his life made him a little grumpy.

“You know this really isn’t the best time-Wait!” He barely got time to yell as the wall in front of them was slashed open, successfully demolishing the view in front of them. The entire hall rattled as the hunk of metal that slashed it open dislodged from its target.

He was getting to hate seeing his life flash before his eyes.

“Hurry!” Harry guided him around the mess of debris.

“Call the Elevator!” Tom chanced a look behind. What kind of monster could produce that kind of wreckage? Tom really didn’t want to encounter it.

“What?!” Was stupidity a symptom of staying in this place or something?

“Press. The. Button. What the hell is that thing?” Harry ignored his question, instead staring at the two-way windows of his room.

“What is all of this? They were watching me? All this time?” His hands balled into fists and Tom felt a sliver of pity for him. “Why? Why did they put me here? What am I?…WHAT AM I?!” He whipped around to face Tom, sadness, anger, and confusion in his emerald eyes and Tom looked straight into them.

  
“You’re the boy that’s getting out of this tower.”


End file.
